


Episode 61: First Comes Pride...

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [61]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clan Ordo, Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Clan, Mandalorian Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "I can drink to that!" ~NiriFirst contact with the Ordo goes about as well as one would expect.
Series: Clan Meso'a [61]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1261364
Kudos: 1





	Episode 61: First Comes Pride...

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, Pit here! I'm not saying we're back, but I'm in a better headspace now. If anything changes, I'll post a note on the applicable episode.

A low rumbling echoed down the hillside and startled a stoneray hunting pack out of their perch among the trees. The last of the summer heat was dissipating, letting the sharp smells of evergreens waft down into the valley. Perfect, thought Niri, sticking her head out the side door of the garage and taking a deep breath. This was by far her favorite time of year. No more hot cobblestone, no more sweat caking her armor on, no more-  
“Pixo!” someone shouted, racing by Niri and startling her. She swore, dropping the wrench she was holding. [It’s time!]   
“What the-”  
“Aviila?” someone else called from their stoop up the hill.   
“Le!” replied a woman down the hill, waving excitedly. [Yes!]  
“Kriff!” Niri swore again, ducking back into the garage and reappearing again with her helmet under her arm. She locked the door hastily behind her and raced through the alleyways and down the hill to the main square. 

The whole village was there, most shoulder to shoulder inside the cantinas or huddled around personal holocoms all tuned in to the live feed from Teno’kaan. Bleary eyed children complained about the noise and hastily gobbled down bowls of food as their parents looked for a good place to watch.   
“We’re making history,” Teya was saying, the camera focussing on her for a moment, “Aren’t you at all scared?”   
Koucitesh was shaking her head, garnering a few “oya”’s from her tribesman.   
Niri squeezed in between a Trandoshan male and an indigenous female at the bar, both glued to the broadcast and barely touching their breakfast. Every so often, she had to extricate her arm from under the Trandoshan’s elbow and regain her vision each time the Enad shook her dizzy in excitement.   
“Just show us what Aviila’s doing,” she muttered, fidgeting with her mug of lukewarm Ka’hast. She caught herself bouncing her leg irritably and stopped, glancing around in case someone was watching her. It’d been over a week since word went out that they’d made the jump. Niri knew the ins and outs of Aviila’s ship, knew how it handled, how it behaved. She found herself doing a mental checklist every night of the systems and their functionality. She checked them out herself when Aviila came back with Cara. She checked them. They’d be fine… they’d be fine… She took a deep, steadying breath. Truth be told, she wasn’t worried about the ship.   
On the fringes of her hearing, Niri caught a conversation happening towards the back of the bar. A human female with two children, one human and the other twi’lek, was explaining in broken basic what Aviila was doing. Most of the conversation was drowned out by the ambient sounds of shuffling armor, but Niri caught the word “hero”. She frowned and turned back to the feed. Don’t think about it, she thought, gotta at least look like you’re not a nervous wreck. That was easier said than done, because as she looked up she stared directly into Aviila’s face.   
“Le, alor,” Aviila said, “I’ll make sure they stick to the plan.”   
“Good,” Alor Yaun replied, his gravelly voice a harsh contrast to Aviila’s smoother tones.   
The appearance of the Twi’lek began a round of clapping, whooping, and the sharp sounds of toasting glasses. Niri once again fished her arm out from under the Trandoshan’s, her face flushed a deeper shade of red. Once Aviila left the range of the cockpit holocom, the feed switched to the holotable in the lounge area where Jecho and Cara were now sitting. Aviila was right behind them, standing with her arms crossed the way she always did. She had her head tilted to one side and her plume was tangled in her lekku sleeves. Niri chuckled and took a swig from her cold Ka’hast. How many times had she tied Aviila’s plume into a bun to keep it from doing just that? She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, trying to hide the grin she was forming when Aviila began to speak again:   
“For thousands of years, no unvetted outsider has set foot on Meso’kaan due to our careful and proactive efforts to keep our people safe. Though our belief in Kad unites us, our belief in each other does not. With that in mind, we cannot allow the other clans to know of our location or existence. Some have discovered our endeavors and therefore had to be silenced. We are not above protecting ourselves and our Eastern brethren from the eyes of the galaxy. Every Mando’ade, every Enad, every outsider we employ, and every transient allowed passage into our system knows this. They know our wrath is swift and decisive; they know our hand is firm and unyielding. Be Haria Enad. So says Father Kad.”   
A hush fell over the gathered as she spoke. Some mimed her words, others translated silently to their neighbors. Niri felt the room sway, as if everyone was leaning in closer like metal to a magnet. It was unnerving, and she shifted so she wasn’t too close to either of her neighbors. She’d been with the Meso’a long enough to understand intellectually their desire to be both reunited with and far away from the other clans, but to her this was ridiculous...right?   
“Be Haria Enad!” someone shouted, sending the group up into a frenzy again.   
Well, she thought as she took one last swig, at least they’re consistent. Just as she finished the gulp, she nearly choked when someone behind her patted her back a tad too enthusiastically. She let out an “uhf” and sputtered a bit of ka’hast onto the counter.   
“Kriffing di’kut,” she muttered, wiping her mouth and grasping the mug before it slid off the edge, “I’m getting out of here.”   
She turned in her chair and made to stand, but to her dismay she was greeted by a sea of plumed helmets and painted faces. She tried to look over the patrons and plot a way, any way, back outside. Seeing none, as there were far more people pushing their way in than out, she sighed hopelessly and sat back down just in time for the Trandoshan to gesture broadly and elbow her in the forehead. She clapped a hand over the spot and hissed a slew of curses barely audible over the growing waves of chatter. Anxious anticipation was the language of the room now and Niri figured it would be for the rest of the day. Not that it made the small bruise on her forehead any easier to bear, but if she was stuck at the bar, she might as well drink. She tossed a few credits to the barman and pointed at a bottle featuring a woman with a big red bow in her mane of voluminous brown hair. It wasn’t her favored whiskey, as she wanted to be sober enough to follow the broadcast, but a kind of fermented Ka’hast that was sweet and smokey but spicy enough that it would keep her from drinking too much. In fact, the smaller the glass to drink it with, the better. She used to joke with Aviila that it could eat the paint off a ship… She pressed her palms against her face and dragged her fingers down her cheeks. Above her, Aviila was still talking with Jecho and Cara, but Niri wasn’t listening.  
“Just come back, okay?” she said, her voice barely audible. She poured out a bit of the ruddy brown liquid into the awaiting shot glass and downed it quickly. 

“I promise, Beon, she’s been with me this whole time. We’ve both been safe. And that Mandalorian sends her apologies. She didn’t want to risk you two being the thieves. They’ve eased up on their blind attacks since then, I promise.”  
Niri, now partially slumped against the counter having finished the entire bottle, rolled her eyes for the upteenth time as Jecho spoke. The Ordo couldn’t be that gullible, she thought, sitting up and stretching. She was mid yawn when a voice on the broadcast said:   
“We’re just glad you’re alright, both of you, and we’ll come for you, ok? Just tell us where.”   
She almost burst into laughter, which was fine because several people around her did too. Someone behind her said something equating to “Get a load of that guy!” which made Niri cackle like an idiot. Her neighbor was also laughing and miming comically each time the Ordo spoke.   
“Nas tir naal’nas,” her friend grunted, shaking his head. [They don’t know us].   
“A nas’tir!” she laughed again, downing whatever she was drinking and raising her glass to the applause of many. [And they never will!].   
Niri raised her shot glass, “I’ll drink to that.”   
The woman took it and filled it from the bottle beside her. It was more fermented Ka’hast but Niri was too far gone to care. She downed it, slammed the glass on the table, and cried, “Be Haria E[burp]nad!”   
The woman clapped her on the back, causing her to burp again, and took up the cry. Like Chochoma in the night, the cry echoed around the bar until everyone was whooping and hollering and shoving one another. Niri joined in the jostling, shoving both of her neighbors and knocking glasses with anyone in range, even if it meant reaching over other patrons and spilling drink on their armor. The chorus of laughter and camaraderie were almost enough to drown out the broadcast.   
“Haria’n, Ta’naal ra’hel!”   
A gurgled choke rippled through the bar as half taken swigs sputtered from the lips of their drinkers.   
“What kind of question is that?” Niri asked, setting her glass down and spinning it on the table. She looked over at her neighbor, expecting the same jovial expression as before. It wasn’t there.   
“Mak m’axi?” she was saying to her friend, pointing up at the broadcast. [Who is that?]  
Niri frowned, set the glass upright on the table, and looked up. Either Aviila sprouted horns and the ugliest mug she’d ever seen, or she was too drunk to realize she was looking at a rather large male Togruta. She blinked and shook her head to clear it but only gave herself a mild headache. She did a double take.   
“Who’s he?” she asked, sticking her thumb out at him.   
The Enad shook her head without taking her eyes off him. Niri turned to the Trandoshan but he was similarly transfixed.   
“Thohsssse wohrdsss,” he murmured as if in a trance, “Ohur wohrdsssss.”   
Slowly, the icy grip of grave realization took hold of Niri’s insides. She shot back to the broadcast, struggling to push past the drunken fog still gripping her mind. Niri you di’kut, she chided herself, studying his image and growing more and more anxious. He’s not Meso’a. He’s not one of them. He’s an Ordo. How did he know she was there? Why is he using their language? She swore again under her breath, leg bouncing as she chewed the inside of her cheek. What the hell is going on??


End file.
